Perfect
by just jay
Summary: Kill me please. au.


Thought: This is old. I'm not updating anything till I update doll. adding old one-shots is acceptable haha.

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><p><em><strong>K<strong>__ilauea_

is a volcano on central Hawaiian Island, happily situated in Volcanoes National Park. It's a little over 4,000 feet.

Volcanoes remind you of explosions, erosions. Erosion, explosions, those words describe you. Any second, it's as though you could break, and when you do, it doesn't feel as good as you thought it would. You rip up the posters of your favorite stars, they're perfect, you hate them.

You throw Halloween candy, specifically the Reece's Cups, which you secretly hate because the peanut butter in the middle tastes funky. You throw shoes at the door, you throw the globe across the floor.

You pick up the pieces of the ripped up posters. No more perfect posters. No more perfect teeth, hair, nothing. You throw the pieces in the hair and watch them float down.

"...explosion," you say.

_**I**__nsomnia_

is a condition that many people face; it's where people have difficulty sleeping.

You? Technically, you do not suffer from insomnia. Technically, you just have a hard time falling asleep. You just have too much on your mind, too much that builds up, too much that needs to be save.

Nothing can save you from not being able to fall asleep. You just have to deal with it, and be tired in the morning, when you're forced to wake up at six for school. You just deal with it.

You deal with it like you deal with everything else. Even when it's too much, even when it builds up, you deal with it. And, you get thrown other people's problems along the way. Too much.

"...gone," you say.

_**L**__eave_

is something you'd like to do. You'd like to leave, but you're too young. You want to leave, but you're too young. You _have_ to leave, but you're too young. There's nothing you can do about it.

And anyway, if you leave, they'll call you a quitter. Quitting by running away from your problems, just giving up. Something you can't do. Because you're too young.

You'd like to leave, to quit, to give up this oh-so-wonderful life of nothingness to do something with this miserable life.

Getting up and going away, running away from all this, leaving, to you, it wouldn't show weakness, it'd show bravery. In three more years, you can go, you can book it.

And you will, you'll travel the world.

"...staying," you say. For now.

_**L**__ife_

is something everybody tries to live to the fullest, even you. You try to be optimistic. You try to look on the bright side, and think of all the things you have that other people don't.

You appreciate everything you have, respect it, cherish it, and you feel guilty and think about the people less fortunate than you every day.

Even though it's not enough, it's your life.

There are things in this life that you have to deal with that others couldn't even conjure up in their minds. And that's not any different than you.

But it doesn't mean you can't avoid rock bottom.

"...fuck life," you say. It's not worth it anymore.

_**M**__ommy_

is something everybody has, or has had at one point. You have a Mommy. She doesn't understand you. She doesn't know what your real problem is, even though you've stated it blatantly.

She doesn't know what you want; what you need.

She doesn't care about what you want, and hardly cares about what you need. How a woman like that is allotted to have children? You have no idea.

But she has you, and you try not to complain. Even when worst comes to worst, you know Mommy has too many complaints from the clients to hear you out.

So you keep it to yourself, bottle it up, until it channels into something bigger, constructive. And you explode like Kilauea.

"...mom," you say. Rip the photo in half. You want to break away.

_**E**__arnest_

by definition is: serious and solemn. You carry many earnest expressions, lifestyles, ways.

You're the kind of person that tries to be funny in a serious situation, and, depending on the topic, serious in a funny situation.

You hate losing, and when you do, you get upset, but let it go. Let it go, like you want to let everything else go. But you can't, you bottle it up, and explode.

You're frivolous; not worth it, not worth anything.

Sobbing, crying, ripping, screaming, singing. Singing miserable songs to make you feel better. Earnest, earnest, earnest.

"Too fucking serious," you say. You need to loosen up and not care. If you didn't care, you'd be okay.

_**P**__hantom_

isn't just a ghost. Phantom can simply be a sensation of another being around you. Sensation of another being, your conscience.

Eats you, destroys you. The things you say behind their backs, to their faces, the things you do, the things you say, the mistakes you make, you never want to take them back, but they still destroy you.

As many faults as you have, you still have no regrets.

"I'm not sorry," you say. Not sorry for everything that you actually are sorry for.

_**L**__oser_

is what your siblings call you; is what you call yourself.

Loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser, loser.

But that's whatever. If you're a loser, then the sky is blue, the grass is green, and red ants are red.

Dork, dork, dork, loser, loser.

All you'll ever be, loser.

"Fucking loser," you say, looking in the mirror. Fucking loser.

_**E**__nmity_

is extreme hostility towards others, ill-will, hatred, enemies.

Your biggest enemy? Yourself.

You can never defeat yourself; never please yourself. You have no idea what you want; your conscience eats you. Eats you into enmity.

Because you don't love yourself like you should. You don't care like you used to. Your drive has drowned, your will power washed up.

"Fucking pathetic," you say, smashing the beer bottle, deciding whether to take the glass to your skin or not.

_**A**__rrogance_

is something you don't really have. You don't show yourself off. Sure, you ask - beg - for pity, and sympathy; but that's your reassurance. You know you're nothing special, nothing to gloat about.

Nothing at all.

You're just another face in the crowd, another person contributing to global warming, taking up space, feeling sorry for yourself instead of enjoying every bit of what you have.

"Pathetic," you say. Pathetic, pathetic. Suck it up.

_**S**__aviors_

are the people who rescue you before you fall. Except, you only go to people after you fall. So, how can they help you?

Bring you back up, reassure you, make you feel good about yourself, about the person you are, you should be, you want to be.

Your saviors are the world to you. Through thick and thin, life and dignity, and sorrow, and health. They're yours. And without them, you know you'd be dead.

But seeing them is rare; they're always gone.

"I need them," you say. But you can't get them just yet.

_**E**__ternity_

lifelong time is eternity; infinite amount of time.

Eternity is what you feel like you have. But time never stops.

It keeps going, going, going.

Clock's ticking, ticking.

Tock.

When will eternity run out? When the pain goes away? When it get's worse? When it gets so bad that you just can't wait for the time anymore?

When?

Right now, you're immortal.

Mortality isn't worth it, but one day, you'll see that life is. That soon, everything that happens in the now will be in the past; in the past, they're nothing more than memories. They may be memories you wish to never have, but you'll have them, you'll take them and learn from them.

Your face is red, your eyes are swollen. The pieces of ripped poster are still on your floor, and they will remain there reminding you of what you could be…what you will be one day,

"Perfect."

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><p>Note: yeah, so, it was reallly old haha so sorry if it was bad and unenjoyable. i liked it when i read it. i dunno. i'm thinking it's more Carlos, or maybe Logan centric, but honestly, it can be whoever you wanted it to be. soo. thanks for reading(:<p> 


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